


All I Want For Christmas

by TLM8



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bets and Wagers, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Mutual Pining, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Romance, Sneakiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-18 00:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21852154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TLM8/pseuds/TLM8
Summary: Hermione wants to get her former boyfriend a really outstanding Christmas present this year, but will need her other best friend's help to make it happen. What's one little kiss between friends? Loosely inspired by a mistletoe kiss scene between Booth and Brennan in Bones. Written for the Harmony Advent Collection 2019.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter, Viktor Krum/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 156
Collections: Harmony Advent Collection 2019





	1. Chapter 1

"You want me to _what_?" 

Hermione Granger's voice was mostly drowned out by the happy sounds of holiday shoppers, loaded down with bags of colorfully wrapped gifts, greeting friends and family. The air was filled with the rich, delicious scents of sauces and gravies, spicy-sweet mulled cider, and fresh pine from the garland runners decorating the round tables. White twinkle lights were woven through the greenery, giving it an even more festive appearance. Three tall vanilla-scented pillar candles wrapped in glittery red and silver ribbons sat in the center of the tables, burning gently. Over the speakers, the Weird Sisters were singing an extra sultry version of _Winter Wonderland_. All of the servers were dressed in holiday jumpers and wearing either Santa hats or reindeer ears with jingle bells on the antlers. The atmosphere could not have been more merry or bright. The only thing out of place was this crazy conversation.

"It’s the perfect solution," came the eager reply from the young woman sitting across the table from her, "Viktor can get you those tickets if you kiss Harry."

Hermione stared at Viktor Krum's gorgeous, elegant girlfriend, Vivian Lumen like she was insane. Vivi returned Hermione's shocked look with a placid one of her own.

Needing time away from Bulgaria to lick his wounds after his team’s disappointing loss to Egypt at the World Cup Championship, Viktor announced his retirement from playing quidditch and took a job as a consultant for Puddlemere last summer. Vivi came with him to London, accepting a job at the Ministry of Magic's Spell Creation and Management Department, which was two floors down from Hermione’s office. She ran into the pair of them in the atrium one afternoon when Viktor came to take his girlfriend to lunch.

Genuinely happy to see his former crush, Viktor immediately invited her to join them. Vivi was far less enthusiastic, though she managed to echo her boyfriend’s invitation with convincing sincerity.

" _Her game face is top-notch. I'll give her that_ ," Hermione thought. But she wasn't fooled for one second. She'd dealt with enough wary girlfriends over the years to know when she was being sized up. The last thing in the world she wanted to do was spend her lunch hour making awkward small talk with a woman who’d made up her mind to dislike her on sight just because she’d once dated her boyfriend when she was 15 freaking years old. However, to please Viktor (and to make up for her rather distant behavior towards him at Bill and Fleur's wedding), she agreed.

And she couldn't have been more surprised to discover how much she liked Vivi once she got to know her better. Though the young woman's black eyes never quite lost their shrewd look any time Hermione so much as smiled in Viktor's general direction, her sharp sense of humor, her brilliant mind, and her excellent taste in shoes went a long way towards smoothing over her initial cool reception, so much so that when lunch wrapped up and Vivi invited Hermione to their flat for tea the following weekend, she readily agreed.

Over the next few months, the two women solidified their unlikely friendship, even after it became clear that Vivi didn't much like most of Viktor's exes. Or really any woman who she suspected had designs on her boyfriend. She was both ruthless and unapologetic when it came to dealing with overzealous fans, and more than one witch found herself on the business end of Vivi's Instantaneous Crew Cut spell (patent pending), which made all but 1/8 inch of their hair fall out on the spot, leaving them as buzzed as a new recruit. She'd added a reversal-resisting agent to the spell as well, which kept the women from growing their hair back too quickly. Hermione only saw Vivi use the spell twice, but both times left a lasting impression. She decided that as long as she never made a move on Viktor, she and Vivi would get along just fine.

They did get along for the most part, though she had no idea what her friend was playing at now. "Let me get this straight. You're saying Viktor can get me he tickets if I...I..."

"Kiss Harry," Vivi said, dark eyes glowing, “Isn’t that great?”

No, it was _not_ great.

Around her birthday, Hermione had the brilliant idea of getting Ron lifetime season tickets to the Chudley Cannons as a Christmas present. It had been a hard year for both of them after their breakup, more so for Ron than for her, and it was only since Harry's birthday at the end of July that things between them were finally beginning to normalize again. Because Hermione wanted to show Ron that she still loved him as much as ever (and because she still felt horribly guilty for hurting him), she'd had hoped to surprise him with a really spectacular gift this year. The tickets were perfect.

That is, they were perfect right up until she saw their price tag--50,000 galleons. Hermione nearly died.

_“I don’t understand,” she lamented to Vivi the next time they met for lunch, “How can they cost so much money? The Cannons suck. It’s not like they’re championship contenders or anything.”_

“ _No, but they could be one day,” Vivi pointed out, “When you live as long as our kind does, anything’s possible. Someday those tickets could be worth the price .”_

_“So they charge 10 times the cost of the average Quidditch pitch on the vague promise of "could be one day?” It’s extortion. How do they sell any tickets at all?_

_“I'm happy to ask Viktor for you, if you like,” Vivi offered, “Even if he’s not playing anymore, he still has a lot of pull in the community. Maybe he can work something out.” Her tone was friendly, but that odd assessing look Vivi leveled at her from time to time flashed in her eyes. It always made Hermione feel like an ant being examined under a magnifying glass._

_“Thanks, but I owled him ages ago,” she said, forcing herself to brush off her unsettling paranoia. “Since he hasn’t gotten back to me, I assume it means he can’t help me.”_

The only other person who might be in a position to help her was Ginny Weasley, and Ginny wasn't handing out any favors these days, at least not to Hermione. Since ending things with Ron, his sister's demeanor had become downright hostile. Invitations to get together were bluntly rejected, always with the same excuse. _“I’m too busy right now. Some other time.”_

As much as it hurt her feelings, Hermione didn't have the heart to resent her former friend for it. Since losing Fred, the Weasleys had become much more protective of each other, closing ranks against any perceived threat to one of their own. So until Ron managed to convince his mother and sister to drop their animosity towards her, Hermione Granger's name was likely to remain in the #1 spot on their list of "People Whose Guts We Hate." 

Thus she’d pretty much given up hope of getting Ron his really great present.

And then Vivi’s note arrived at her office this morning, asking her to meet at Esmerelda's Grotto at noon for lunch. _I’ve figured out a way for you to get the tickets after all. If we hurry, you can still get them in time for Christmas._

Thrilled, Hermione raced to the restaurant.

Vivi was already there, looking very chic in a hunter green off-the-shoulder cashmere sweater dress and matching snakeskin pumps. 

"Hi," she said, air-kissing Vivi's proffered cheek, "You look stunning." Viktor's girlfriend was always beautiful, no matter what color she wore, but for some reason that Hermione couldn’t quite put her finger on, dark green seemed to suit her the best. 

"Thanks. So do you," Vivi said, "I ordered us drinks."

"Great."

She barely gave Hermione time to drop into her chair before hitting her with this absurd claim that making out with Harry was the answer to all her problems.

If this was a joke, Hermione didn't find it at all funny. “I don’t understand what kissing Harry has to do with anything," she said, "And why would Viktor, of all people, want me to kiss him?”

Vivi was prevented from answering when their server appeared holding two tall cream-colored mugs with holly and ivy trim, which he set on the table before them. Hot chocolate with whipped cream, sprinkled with cinnamon, for Hermione, and a pumpkin spice latte for Vivi. She took a careful sip of it before answering. “Okay, so you’re not going to like this part, but at least hear me out before you go flying off the handle,” she said, “It seems there’s this longstanding bet about when you and Harry will snog each other for the first time that I’m pretty sure goes all the way back to your Hogwarts days. The pot is up to several thousand galleons now.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open in shock. “A-are you kidding me?” she spluttered, “Who does that? What _grown-up_ does that? Why are my peers so bloody immature?”

“To be fair, it’s not just your peers. Quite a few adults placed bets too. Your old professors. Your co-workers here at the Ministry. Even your bosses have gotten in on the action.”

“Well, then, they’re out some money they're never getting back because they're wrong,” Hermione said, “They’ve always been wrong. Harry and I are friends. _Just friends_. He’s like a brother to me, for godsakes. We’ve never even thought about kissing each other.”

Only that wasn’t entirely true.

Unbidden, a memory of another Christmas 5 years ago sprang up before her mind’s eye. A lonely tent in the middle of nowhere. Two overwhelmed and frightened teenagers with their arms wrapped tightly around each other and their faces only inches apart, fighting desperately to hang on to the last bit of hope and sanity they had.

She could still see the question in his green eyes as they traveled slowly over every inch of her face, lingering for a long time on her mouth, before flicking back up to meet her gaze. Could still feel the heat of his body soaking into her as he pressed her close against him, and the way his hands bunched in the fabric of her shirt at the small of her back.

He wanted to kiss her. She could see it all over his face. He wanted to kiss her so badly, his hands were shaking from the effort it took to stay where they were. One word—one look, even—was all it would take, and Hermione would finally have the answer to the question she rarely let herself wonder. _What would it be like to kiss her best friend_? All it would take was her leaning forward, just a little, trusting that Harry would meet her halfway, and the two of them would change the nature of their friendship forever. One word, one look, one inch...

Instead, she’d pulled herself out of his arms and slowly walked away from him. And Harry let her go.

Hermione forced herself to shove the memory back into the dark, hidden corner of her brain where it belonged. "I still don’t see what any of this has to do with Viktor,” she said, hoping her face wasn’t as red as it felt. “Don’t tell me he’s caught up in this nonsense too.”

“Not directly, no. But here's my plan. I’ll place a small wager in his name that you’ll kiss Harry today at 4p, the winnings will be deposited into his account, and voila!" She lifted both hands in an exultant gesture, "The tickets are as good as yours.”

"That's cheating," Hermione protested, "I can't believe you'd even suggest it.” Except on reflection, she supposed it wasn't _that_ out of character for Vivi. After all, this was a woman who hexed other women bald without even blinking for smiling too much at her boyfriend. 

“No, it's not cheating. I've looked into it. There is no rule that specifically states someone can’t outright ask you to kiss Harry or vice versa.”

“I’m sure it’s implied, though.”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s implied or not. If it’s not spelled out word for word, it’s not cheating. There are only 2 hard and fast rules for this. It has to be a proper snog, not some namby-pamby, grandmotherly peck on the cheek. And no one can force either one of you to do it against your will. As far as I'm concerned, if no one else has thought of taking the direct approach with you before now, then I guess they didn’t want to win bad enough.”

Vivi’s Cheshire cat smile was so self-congratulatory, Hermione was suddenly and pointedly reminded of Draco Malfoy. While her plan wasn’t technically against the rules, it was definitely straddling that thin line that separated “shades of gray” from “inarguably unethical.” While the Slytherin prince would never involve himself in something as crass as betting on when Harry Potter would kiss Hermione Granger, she had a feeling he would wholeheartedly approve of Vivi’s nuanced approach to problem-solving.

“I don’t understand why you would want to entangle yourself in such a tacky and juvenile ploy, Vivian Lumen," Hermione said, "What sort of person places bets on other people’s love lives?"

"I’m sure the whole thing started as a joke. It's just gone on for so long now, it’s taken on a life of its own.”

 _Nice._ Her very real, very complicated feelings for her best friend were a joke to other people. 

“Harry and I have both been in relationships with other people. How has this bet not died a natural death a long time ago?"

“It probably would have were it not for the fact that no matter how many other people you date, you two keep coming back to each other.”

It was a diplomatic reference to the articles that appeared in the _Daily Prophet_ every time one or the other of them went through a breakup. The worst was when Harry and Ginny ended things for good, and Harry moved into Hermione's flat for a few months while he finished rebuilding his parents’ house in Godric’s Hollow. The press stalked them relentlessly for weeks.

“Of course we always come back to each other," she said, exasperated, "Because _. We’re. Friends_!”

“Well, don’t bite my head off. I’m just trying to help you out,” Vivi said, “Like it or not, there are a lot of people out there who aren't buying your "practically siblings" routine, and they’re willing to put their money with their mouth is.”

"What a bloody waste," Hermione muttered, glaring down at her half-empty mug like she hated it, “Must be nice to have so much discretionary income these days, you can afford to throw it away on something so stupid."

Vivi’s expression became a little less serene as a small frown line appeared between her sculpted eyebrows. "I thought you’d be pleased. Not only can you get your ex his extra-awesome, super-amazing Christmas present, this is your chance to put this whole wager thing to bed once and for all. Kiss your boy and it's over. Two birds, one stone.”

Instead of responding, Hermione took another sip of now cold cocoa, then set it back down hard, grumbling to herself about nosey pests, fake friends, the Wizarding World's unhealthy preoccupation with her love life, and something about it being “ _all that two-knut hack, Rita Skeeter’s fault_ ”, which she doubted Vivi understood.

“It’s just a silly bet,” Vivi told her, “Why are getting so worked up over it? Who even cares?"

No one cared, that much was clear. No one cared at all how much it would hurt her to kiss Harry when he'd made it perfectly clear that he had zero interest in kissing her back.

“Let’s see how much you like it when people start obsessing about your personal life and running unflattering news articles about you and taking bets on how long your relationship will last,” Hermione said.

“Um...helloooo,” Vivi raised her hand, "Dating a hot, wealthy, international quidditch star, remember? Get back to me when you're accused so many times of being a succubus in disguise, your boyfriend’s family takes out a contract with an exorcist.”

Well, Vivi had here there.

“Look, I get that it might be a little strange, but it’s not like you and Harry are a couple of bashful, starry-eyed virgins here. I've seen the way you two look at each other-"

"We don't look at each other," Hermione cut in quickly.

"--and the way you touch each other--"

"WE DO NOT TOUCH EACH OTHER!" she screeched.

Conversation in the restaurant ground to a halt as every head swiveled towards the two young women seated in the corner. Hermione's face turned bright red and she snatched up her mug, taking a big drink to cover her embarrassment, while Vivi broke into laughter. The silvery sound was almost enough provocation for Hermione to shoot her a two-fingered salute.

"We do not touch each other," Hermione insisted in a much quieter voice.

"You can't keep your hands off each other," Vivi countered, still grinning, "The way you run your fingers through his hair every time you pass him? The way he puts his hand on the small of your back whenever you're walking somewhere together? All the hugging the two of you do anytime you're going to be separated for longer than 5 minutes? Even Viktor and I don't touch so often, and I'm shagging his brains out every night. So as much as you may not like to hear it, I can totally see why people might think something is going on between you. And all I'm saying is if you really want those tickets, this is your best shot at getting them."

"Well, forget it, then," Hermione said sulkily, "I'm not selling myself. Or Harry, for that matter. It’s depraved."

"Oh, come on. Don’t be such a prude.” A hint of exasperation crept into Vivi’s tone. “It’s just a kiss. No one’s asking you to sleep with him. Think of Ron. Think how much he'll love getting season tickets to his favorite Quidditch team's games for the rest of his life. Think how delighted he'll be when he opens that white envelope with his name written in black swirly script across the front and sees what's inside on Christmas morning. It'll be a dream come true for him. Can you imagine it? Can you picture his face right now?"

Yes, Hermione could picture Ron's face, stunned and excited. Maybe it would be enough to finally replace the memory of the devastated look he'd given her the day she told him they weren’t right together and she couldn't go on pretending that they were. More than a year had passed and that crushed, defeated look still haunted her. Still made her cry.

“Dammit.” It was the politer of the two words that sprang to her mind. “ _Damn. It_.”

Hermione glimpsed an edge of triumph in Vivi's smile just before dropping her head on the table with a dull thump. “Harry might say no, you know,” she mumbled against the white table cloth.

Vivi huffed a derisive bark of laughter in response.

Their server appeared at their side again, the bells on the ends of his antlers jingling merrily, as he balanced two plates of hot, fragrant cottage pie in each hand. He set the plates in front of them, made his polite inquiries about what else he could bring them, and whisked away their empty mugs. The music had switched to an upbeat wizarding version of _Santa Baby,_ with a few of the patrons who'd taken advantage of the restaurant's two-for-one special on eggnog raising their glasses and singing along.

“Let's at least spare Viktor the hassle of getting mixed up in this,” Hermione sighed, resigned, “When I get the money, I’ll just buy the tickets myself.”

“No!” It came out sounding so much like a command that Hermione paused with a forkful of cottage pie halfway to her mouth.

“Sorry?”

“Well, no one knows for sure what the pot is up to,” Vivi hurried to explain, “If it’s not quite enough to cover the cost, it will mean calling in some favors. Viktor’s in the best position to work that out, don’t you think? Besides," she picked up her fork and speared up a bite of pie, "he likes doing favors for you.”

There was that look again, a slight frosting in Vivi's eyes and a tightness around her mouth. But it vanished almost as soon as it appeared.

“What if he can’t?” Hermione pressed.

Vivi waved her off. “Let me worry about that. But you're in, yes?”

Hermione bracketed her forehead with both hands, her thumbs pressing hard against her temples. How was she supposed to get Harry to go along with this?

“The things we'll do for our friends, eh?" Vivi’s voice was equal parts sympathy and cheer. "4:00 this afternoon. In your office. Do Harry a favor and wear that pretty cinnamon-flavored lip gloss of yours." 


	2. Chapter 2

Harry Potter watched with fond amusement as his best friend stood on the very tips of her toes, reaching for something on the top shelf of her bookcase. She must be preoccupied. Hermione only ever forgot to use her wand for things like this when she had something troubling on her mind.

He let his eyes drift over her lithe form, clad in a charcoal grey jersey wrap dress and black high-heeled boots. She'd kicked up some fuss around the Ministry 4 years ago when she began showing up for work in Muggle clothes instead of the traditional work robes. But for once, Hermione didn't care about her superiors' disapproval. " _What is the big deal_?” she fired back. “ _It's not like I'm showing up to work in my string bikini and flip flops. My attire is perfectly appropriate, so stop making a mountain out of a molehill. When my work starts to suffer, then you can complain_.”

Later she'd confessed to Harry that her choice wasn't fashion motivated, she was trying to make a point. " _I want people to remember that I'm Muggleborn, and this is the easiest way to put it right in their faces. If we're ever going to get people to set aside their blood prejudices, then they need to see that Muggleborns are just as capable--or in my case better-as purebloods when it comes to working with magic. Besides_ ," she added with a defiant frown, " _I hate wizarding robes. I always have. And I look good in Muggle clothes_."

" _No argument here_ ," Harry said with a smile.

Hermione's cheeks colored prettily, then she smiled back at him, " _Thanks, Harry_."

He was only telling the truth. 

Hermione had done a spectacular job of keeping herself covered up while in school, but she had a lovely shape. Though not as tall or lean as Ginny or Cho's athletic builds, she was soft and curvy in all the places that looked so fantastic on girls. She had a nicely tapered waist, delicately rounded hips, and long, trim legs. And though he'd probably get his face slapped if he ever said it out loud, she also had really nice breasts. Harry would have to be dead not to notice them in the fitted V-neck sweaters she favored. He'd known for years how pretty she was. He had no one to blame but himself that it took him so long to notice how sexy she was too.

But now that he saw it, it was impossible to un-see it, not that he tried. Hermione was perfectly lovely, and he liked looking at her. Just like now, as she leaned forward a little, fighting to reach whatever it was that was up there. The gentlemanly thing to do would be to come in and get it for her, but he was too busy eyeing her curves in that clingy dress. Bloody hell, she had a nice body. What would she do, he wondered idly, if he were to steal up behind her just now, slip his arms around her waist, and press--

"Harry!"

His head jerked up in surprise, making his glasses slip down his nose. "Huh? What?" He felt a flush of heat creeping up the back of his neck. Had she guessed what he was thinking by the look on his face?

"A little help would be nice if it's not too much trouble!" she snapped, "Unless, of course, you're too busy just standing there doing nothing!"

"Sorry," he said, hurrying forward, "Got a lot on my mind."

"Mmm-hmm. I need that little white box at the back of the shelf. You may have to stretch a bit to get it."

Harry easily snagged the edge of the box and lifted it down. "Here you are."

"Thank you." She gently pushed his glasses back into place, then took the box from him and pulled what looked like a ball-shaped plant with green leaves and white berries out of it. "I see you got my note. Thanks for coming."

"You're welcome," Harry said, "It was kind of cryptic. _My office, 3:45. We need to talk_."

"Sorry about that. I figured this warrants an explanation in person." Her fingers brushed through the leaves of the plant, seeming to search for something. A second later, she withdrew a long, red ribbon from its center. "Do you remember that idea I had a few weeks back about getting season tickets for Ron for Christmas?"

“You mean the ones we could only afford if they let us make payments over the next 500 years? Yeah. I remember."

"Well, I've figured out a way to get them,” Hermione said, “Could you grab that chair and pull it over here for me?”

Harry did as she asked, his eyes wide with surprised delight. "Are you serious?” he said, “That's fantastic, Hermione. Ron's going to lose his mind."

"I know." Hermione climbed up on the chair and began spell-o-taping the free end of the ribbon to the ceiling. Without thinking, Harry grabbed her hips to steady her. The feel of her beneath his hands sent a familiar heat surging through his body. He grit his teeth and focused on tamping it back. Ever since he’d moved in with her for those few months while finishing the work on his house, these episodes occurred with increasing frequency.

He probably should have declined her offer to put him up, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He’d missed her so much when he entered the Auror training program and she'd gone back to Hogwarts, he could barely see straight. Maybe that should have been his first clue that his feelings for his female best friend weren’t quite as platonic as he’d always insisted.

Leaving Ginny behind to fight the war was a hard lesson. Ron abandoning Hermione and him in the middle of the war was an even harder one. But both experiences taught him some important things about the difference between wanting someone and needing them. He wanted Ron and Ginny in his life--so much so that he continued to date his first girlfriend long after they'd outgrown each other because he couldn't stand the thought of hurting her or alienating her brother. But when their relationship did come to its painful, inevitable end, Harry already knew that he'd be fine without the two youngest Weasleys. It wasn't what he wanted, and he would deeply regret the loss of them if they chose to cut him out of their lives for good. But he would be okay without them.

Hermione, though...

Harry barely made it a full week before he was risking expulsion from the training program to sneak off to Hogwarts to see her. She was both horrified and elated to find him waiting for her in one of the old, out-of-the-way greenhouses she always made a point of checking when she did her rounds. After hugging him like it had been years since they'd last seen each other rather than days, she'd loudly told him off for being so reckless with his future and ordered him to get himself back to London before someone discovered he was missing and kicked him out of his training class. Instead, he pulled her down next to him in the flower beds and kept her talking until dawn.

_"This was so nice, Harry, but you can't do it again," she told him as he was preparing to leave, "It's too risky. You have to promise me you won't come back here again."_

_"Hmm," was all he said before pecking her on the cheek before his portkey activated._

She found him sitting in the exact same spot the following weekend.

It took about 3 months, but once it was clear to her that no amount of scolding, pleading, or threatening was going to keep him from coming back week in and week out, Hermione finally quit trying. They spent hours together holed up in that old, neglected greenhouse--sometimes talking, but many times not—Harry soaking up the warmth of her presence until he felt sure he’d had enough of her to get him through another week.

At the time, he’d chalked the clawing desperation he felt when he'd been away from her for too long to leftover trauma from the war. After spending nearly every day together for almost a year and surviving some truly horrible things with only each other for support, it only made sense that being separated from her might cause him some anxiety. Surely this strange and irresistible need to see her as much as possible would fade away with time.

When almost a year passed, and it wasn't any better, Harry managed to convince himself it was because she lived so far away. Once she left Scotland, he told himself, things between them would go back to normal. Her moving closer would fix everything, he was sure of it. He was so certain, in fact, that he wasn’t at all prepared for the very different kind of desperation that filled his brain when she finished school, moved back to London, and began seriously dating Ron.

Ron, understandably, wanted his girlfriend's undivided attention, and Hermione, determined to be a good girlfriend, tried her best to give it to him. Which frequently left Harry standing on the outside looking in, feeling helpless and alone. Those were hard days--in some ways, even worse than the war--having her so close, but also farther away from him than she'd ever been before. He never told anyone, but there were moments when the emptiness he felt was so consuming, he really did wonder if he was going insane.

It took ending things with Ginny and moving into Hermione’s flat for the puzzle pieces to finally slot into place.

That first morning when he saw her sitting at her breakfast table, her hands cupped around a mug of peppermint tea, her eyes soft and sleepy, and her hair all over the place, waiting patiently for him to join her, the answer came hurtling towards Harry with stunning crystal clarity. Being apart from Hermione was like holding his breath. He wouldn't really start breathing again until she was back at his side. As soon as he realized it, the vice grip on his chest that prevented him from taking a deep breath for the last few years snapped and fell away for good. They'd gone into the war as best friends, but they'd emerged as so much more. _This_ was the difference between wanting and needing. 

At that moment, he realized something else rather important too. Something he'd half suspected since he was 14, but kept trying to shunt aside for the sake of other people. Harry was in love with her. He'd loved her since they were kids, he'd just been too clueless or too stubborn or _too fucking noble_ (Ginny’s words flung angrily at his back as she practically shoved him out the door of her flat) to admit as much to anyone, especially himself.

So in the days that followed, as Harry went about renovating the house he planned to make into his home, he did it all with an unspoken sliver of hope that one day, against every odd that had stacked up against him over the years, maybe he would find a way to convince his pretty, clever best friend to make it her home too. It was why he left space in the living room for floor-to-ceiling bookshelves to fit and room on the mantel for more framed pictures and cinnamon-scented candles. And why he put a deep window seat with butter yellow cushions in the kitchen, where a cat lover might curl up in the late afternoon sunshine to drink a cup of tea and read a book. And why he painted an accent wall in the master bedroom her favorite shade of Malta blue.

He might have revealed too much with that one. Neville eyed the wall critically as he helped Harry position his king-sized platform bed on the raised dais just beneath the window. “ _Nice color,” Neville said as he headed back out the door, “Hermione will love it_.”

But even if he could tell himself the truth, the words got stuck in his throat anytime he tried to say them to his best friend. They sat there, unacknowledged, in the silences between them, with Harry fighting to get control of his feelings before he did something impulsive and regrettable like pulling her into his lap and kissing her.

Admiring looks were one thing, but this mad impulse to put his hands on her every time they were in a room together was quite another. If she knew just how much touching her affected him, she’d probably order him in tones shrill enough to shatter glass to keep his pervy hands off of her and then avoid him for the next 6 months. Harry couldn’t have that. He’d lose his mind.

The feel of her fingertips digging into his shoulders to balance herself as she climbed down from the chair brought him back to the present moment. He kept his hands on her waist until both her feet were firmly on the floor.

"So how much then?” he asked, “As long it won't cost me my grandchildren's inheritance, I'm still willing to go in half."

"Vivi has a plan to get them that won’t cost us anything. We just have to do something first."

"Oh?” he said, now wary, “What does she want?"

The last time Vivi had a plan, there were tattoos involved. Harry could still remember the look of utter mortification on Hermione’s face when she’d hooked her thumb in the waistband of her skirt and eased it down low enough to show him the small golden snitch with fluttery white wings drawn on the curve of her hip. _ow in Godric’s name did I let her talk me into this?” she gasped, "I’m going to the coast next week with my parents! What am I supposed to tell them when they see it?”_ Harry never did find out what exactly she told her parents, but that snitch was a prominent feature in many a fevered dream in the ensuing weeks. Dreams that left him feeling both wracked with guilt and aching for more.

“It will take too much time to explain the details. The long and short of it is if we kiss each other, we can get the tickets.”

Harry must have misheard her. “Come again?”

Hermione rubbed the center of her forehead like she was trying to stave off a headache. “So there's this bet that’s been going on for years about you and me. It sounds like everyone who's ever met us is in on it and—”

“Who told you about the bet?” The words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them. 

Hermione paused, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Who told _you_ about it?”

“I—” There was no point in lying to her. If she hadn't found out yet, she would soon enough. “The twins.”

“How long have you known?” she demanded.

"I don't know. Awhile,” he said, his eyes dipping to the side, “Since about fourth year, I think.”

"And you never told me. I see." She spat the words out like bullets. “How did the twins know about it?"

"Well, who do you think set it up in the first place?”

Her lips flattened into a tight line, as though she were physically restraining herself from saying something scathing. Or vulgar. “Well, anyway,” she grit out from between clenched teeth, "Vivi is confident that even if it’s not enough to cover the cost, Viktor can work out the difference. So all we have to do is…” she gestured to the plant she’d just attached to the ceiling.

Harry looked up and on closer inspection realized it was mistletoe. His gaze shot to hers, green eyes wide with astonishment. “Really?" he said, "You want to do it? You want to kiss me?"

For the first time since he’d arrived, Hermione’s no-nonsense demeanor slipped enough for him to glimpse the insecurity she was trying so hard to hide. “Well, only if you don’t mind,” she said quickly, “I wouldn’t force you, Harry. I can't, even if I wanted to. It's against the rules. Not that I want to, of course. Force you, I mean. I would never do that to you.”

The look on her face—that careful, uncertain, vulnerable look--was painfully reminiscent of another time, another place, another Christmas when they’d stood on the precipice of a life-altering change, both of them wanting, but neither one of them brave enough to take that final step. She'd needed him to be the one to do it, he realized. She was almost always the braver one of the pair of them, but this once, she needed him to take the lead. And he had let her down. That was why she'd walked away from him. Because he left her without another choice.

And while this wasn’t how Harry would have arranged his second chance if he'd had any say at all in it, life had taught him that sometimes the best gifts came in unexpected packaging. This time would be different. This time he wasn’t going to just stand there and watch her walk away. He took a step closer, halving the distance between them. “I don’t mind. I would like to kiss you. I'd like that very much.”

Hermione’s head tilted back to stare up at him. “You would? Are..are you sure, Harry? It's got to be a proper snog, you know. A quick peck won't count.”

"I'm sure." He was so close now, he could feel the heat emanating from her skin. He slid one hand around the back of her neck, her skin petal-soft against his palm. The air around them sparked with anticipation. "Anything for...Ron...right?"

"Who?" she asked dumbly, "Oh, yeah. Right. Ron."

Her eyes slid closed when he leaned forward, his lips brushing over her cheekbone. He felt a small shudder go through her body, her hands sliding up between them and resting on his chest. “Harry,” she murmured as her fingers curled into his shirt.

Pulling her closer, he trailed soft, tiny kisses down the curve of her jaw and up over her chin. He felt her breath hitch with every press of his lips against her skin. By the time his mouth hovered over hers, she was trembling from head to toe. “Well, go on then,” he said softly, “Kiss me.”

There was a moment's pause, then Hermione rose up on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his. Gently at first, lips whisper-soft against his own, then gradually growing more sure. She sighed sweetly against his mouth, her arms lifting to wrap loosely around his waist. If asked, Harry would have been hard-pressed to describe the moment. This was hardly his first kiss, but it was the first time he’d felt such an overwhelming sense of rightness. That one way or another, all roads pointed to this girl and this moment in time with her.

 _"Home,"_ he thought dizzily. That’s what this was. A homecoming.

So maybe that near-kiss in the tent 5 years ago wasn't a missed opportunity after all. Maybe it was the moment that set him on the path that would ultimately lead him here. At 17, he didn't know how to love her the way she deserved. Maybe he'd needed this time to grow up and become the man she needed, so when his real chance came he'd be ready for it. Ready for her.

The universe was a fickle and unreliable friend, but for once it was firmly on his side. Hermione Granger was finally in his arms where she belonged. The realization was almost more than he could stand. Bending slightly, he lifted her off her feet, kissing her even more fervently than before, then lavishing affection down the side of her neck.

“God, Hermione, I have waited so bloody long for you,” he muttered against her skin, “But you’re mine now, right? Even if we took the long way around, you’re finally mine.”

In response, Hermione cupped his face in both hands and kissed him again. “Yours, Harry,” she whispered, “Just yours. Make me yours.”

She probably didn't mean it the way it sounded, but it triggered something feral in him, and just like that, the tempo of their kiss changed from two hearts coming together as one to something far less sweet and fluffy. Suddenly she was wasn’t just kissing him anymore, she was trying to devour him, her mouth hot and demanding and her hands tangled up in his hair, gripping the strands so tight it hurt.

Her hitched her higher against him and felt momentarily stunned when her long legs twined around his waist. Her dressed bunched up around the tops of her thighs, exposing the lacy tops of her garters. In a voice thick with wanting, Harry muttered against her neck, Oh, God, you’re wearing stockings.” She squirmed against him in a way that made his body beg for relief. Her skin was so hot now, it burned his hands through her clothes. And when her teeth sank deep into the flesh of his lower lip, Harry groaned again.

“Jesus, Hermione. Do that again!” he commanded.

She did, harder this time, and the sensation scissored like a jolt of lightning through his whole body.

They had to stop. They had to stop right now before he couldn’t stop and they found themselves half-dressed and writhing against each other on top of her desk. As badly as he wanted her right now, he wanted something better than a hot, fast shag in the middle of the day in her office. At least not the first time. She seemed to come to the same conclusion because she lifted her face away from his on a gasp, her hands withdrawing from his hair and falling to her sides. 

“Could you put me down, Harry?”

“Yeah. ‘Course.” He set her down and Hermione scuttled backward until she was beyond the reach of his arms. They stared at each other, as they fought to catch their breath. 

They were still staring at each other in silence when Hermione’s door swung open and Vivi came bouncing inside, her face wreathed in smiles.

“Hello, you two!” she trilled, her voice as sunny as a summer day, “Did you ask him?”

Hermione gave a short, jerky nod in response, her gaze never leaving Harry’s. Her dark eyes were smoky with desire and her mouth still wet from their kiss. Her tongue slid slowly over her bottom lip, as though she was still tasting him. Harry’s hands balled into fists at his side, his eyes burning a slow path down the length of her and back up again. It was all he could do to keep from pushing her up against the nearest flat surface to finish what they’d begun.

“And did he say yes?” Vivi prompted.

Hermione nodded again.

“Excellent! Well, it’s 4:00 now, so chop-chop,” Vivi rolled her hand in the universal “get on with it” gesture, “Kiss him and let’s get paid!”

This time, Hermione didn’t hesitate. She flung herself back into his arms, which were already open and waiting for her. He caught her up against him, both arms locking tight around her waist. Hermione’s hands dove back into his hair, her fingers feathering through the dark, silken strands. He teased her mouth open, pressing his tongue lushly against her own. A groan worked its way up her chest and into his mouth as her hands tightened in his hair. Harry lost his mind. He didn’t care if Vivi was standing there watching them. He didn’t care if half the Ministry walked in to catch the show. What did it matter? What did anything matter when Hermione was in his arms?

Her taste--her cinnamon sweet taste--was an instant addiction. How had he gone so long without it? Her mouth moved hungrily beneath his own, eager to take all she offered. She hips fit against him like she'd been specifically for him. His hands traced over her, down the curve of her back and over the dip of her waist as she squirmed against him, desperate to get closer. Maybe _not_ kissing her 5 years ago in the Forest of Dean had been a blessing in disguise. One taste of her, and he'd have never left the bloody tent. The needy sounds she made against his mouth were driving him mad. He lifted her against him and half turned, this time with every intention of setting her atop her desk, his good intentions be damned when a very loud clearing of the throat broke through the haze.

“A-HEM!” Vivi half-shouted, one fist rapping sharply on Hermione’s desk, “I think we’re all good here, guys! Stop before you set off the fire alarm!”

The two of them paused, their heads turned towards her in askance. Harry dropped her back to her feet, but this time kept her in the circle of his embrace.

There were two bright spots of color high on Vivi's normally pale cheekbones. Her stunned gaze flicked back and forth between the two of them. “He’s like a brother to you, huh?” she asked, “You must come from a really close family.”

Neither one responded.

“Right. Okay. Guess I’ll be going, then” Vivi said, settling her purse strap onto her shoulder, “I need to see Viktor. Right now. See you later.”

She was halfway to the door when Hermione’s rational mind finally broke through the snog-induced stupor. “Wait,” she called, “How long do you think it will take Viktor to get the tickets? Christmas is next week.”

“Oh, right,” Vivi turned back around and fumbled through her handbag, “That breathtaking display of yours distracted me. I have them right here.”

It took a second for the words to register. “What?” Hermione asked, “What did you say?”

She watched in mute disbelief as Vivi withdrew a white envelope with Ron’s name written in swirly black script across the surface. Just like Vivi had described to her 4 hours ago at lunch. “I don’t understand," she said, "How can you already have them?”

“Viktor got them ages ago, back when you first owled him. The Cannons were thrilled to gift them to him. They’re hoping it means he’s interested in the team. Or will be at some point. I’ve been carrying them around for weeks.” She held the envelope out to her, still smiling as brightly as a string of Christmas lights, "Go on. Take them. They're yours."

“You say you've had them for weeks?” Hermione repeated without moving.

Vivi nodded.

“Then what was all this about?” She thrust her hand up at the mistletoe. “Why trick Harry and me into doing this?”

For the first time since bouncing into Hermione’s office, Vivi’s chirpy mood fell away. That look—that half-crafty, half-determined look--Vivi sometimes pinned her with slid into place. Her gaze morphed into something more calculating than friendly. “I like you, Hermione,” Vivi said, “I didn’t think I would because I don’t like any of Viktor’s ex-girlfriends. They’re all so clingy and desperate. You have no idea how tedious it is, keeping them at arm's length. But you--you're nothing like them. You’re smart and kind and pretty and so, _so_ loyal that if I didn't know you, I'd think you couldn't possibly be real. I mean, just look at the lengths you’re willing to go to for your ex-boyfriend, just so you can give him a really great Christmas present. I wouldn’t go to this much trouble for my own family, and we’re bound by blood. I get why Viktor was so besotted with you.”

“He wasn’t besot—" Hermione began.

“He was, actually,” Vivi said over her, “He still kind of is if I'm being honest. It’s why he’ll do things for you, like get tickets that other people have no hope of ever being able to afford in their lifetime. Boys can be so sentimental over their first loves.”

Hermione felt more than saw Harry shift at her side like he was ready to step in front of her. She inched her hand towards his, sliding her fingers over the top of his. He turned his hand over, intertwining their fingers together and tugging her just a tiny bit closer to him. Hermione hoped this exchange wasn't going to end with one or the other of them being struck bald. Her wand was on the other side of her desk. She'd never get to it in time.

“Don't worry,” Vivi said, as though she'd read her mind, “I know you’re not after Viktor.” Her eyes slanted towards Harry. “And even if you were before today, you’re definitely not now. Am I right?”

Hermione's eyes widened. “Are you saying you did this because you think I’m competition?”

Vivi laughed. “You should know me better than that by now. I’m way more heartless when it comes to taking out my competition. This is just me...you know...hedging my bets.”

In a flash, Hermione realized who it was that Vivi had always reminded her of and why the color green seemed to suit her so well. This was precisely the sort of mind game someone like Pansy Parkinson would play. Vivi even looked a bit like Pansy right now, her dark eyes glittering and dangerous, as she lapped up the only thing a Slytherin loved more than winning--rubbing the loser's face in it. 

“But why do it like this?” Hermione asked, “Why not just tell me to stay away from you and Viktor?”

“Because I like you, Hermione,” Vivi insisted, "I swear I do. Just because I leave nothing to chance when it comes to my boyfriend doesn’t mean I don’t want us to be friends. And bonus! This way, we both get the boy we want. Your welcome.” The gleam of mischief and triumph in her eyes then extended to the sly smile that unfurled itself across her face. “Also, 50,000 galleons were on the table. Someone had to win it.”

With that, she set the envelope down on the edge of Hermione’s desk, then sailed out the door, her snakeskin stilettos tapping out a quick staccato against the marble floor. “Have a Merry Christmas, you two!” she called, "Lunch is my treat next time!"

The silence left in her wake was deafening.

“I’ve got to hand it to her,” Harry said when he couldn't keep quiet a moment longer, “That was very well played.”

“Yeah,” Hermione agreed, “I've heard of keeping your friends close and your enemies closer, but this--I can't get my head around this. How can she be so sneaky and conniving?" She paused as her teeth worried the corner of her lower lip. "And what do you think it says about _me_ that even though I'm pretty mad at her, I’m kind of impressed too?”

Harry laughed softly and after a minute, Hermione joined him.

“Viktor better watch his step with that one," he said, "Are you sure she wasn’t in Slytherin?”

“Oh, we’d have known if she was in Slytherin. They'd have made her their queen.”

She sighed as she pressed her face into his shoulder.

“Hey,” he said, cupping her jaw and tilting her head up until he could see her face. He wasn't sure what to make of her peculiar expression. “Are you okay? You’re not going to let what she said change your mind about me, are you?”

She slid her hand over the top of his, pressing it more firmly against her face. “I’m in love with you, Harry. Nothing is going to change my mind about that.”

“Good. I love you, too.” He lowered his face and kissed her again, a slow one filled with sensual promise.

Hermione melted into him, her arms going up around his neck and holding him tight against her. From the doorway, they heard a loud gasp. Someone must have been on their way into Hermione’s office. Without breaking the kiss, Harry flung one hand out in the direction of the door. It slammed shut with a loud crack and the lock slid into place. They were both light-headed by the time the kiss ended.

He rested his forehead against hers, his hands easing their way down the length of her back. “Why the funny look on your face when she left?” he asked.

“Mostly because I was wondering how pissed off she’s going to be when she finds out she didn’t win the money after all. Her bet was we'd have our first kiss at 4:00p on December 18th. Our first kiss was at 3:55p. Our second was at 4p.”

“That won’t matter,” Harry said, half distracted by how well her hips curved into the palms of his hands. “The closest guess wins, which will be her.”

“It won’t, actually.” She leaned back so she could look up into his eyes. “When the money isn't in Viktor's account, she's going to find out that someone else placed a closer bet. For 3:55p. Why do you think my note said to come here at 3:45p?” Her shoulders lifted and fell. “I don’t take chances either.”

Harry stared at her for a moment, then broke into a huge smile. “And the win goes to Gryffindor.”

“Come on.” She scooped up the envelope as she pulled him towards her fireplace. “We should leave now. Once the word is out that we won the bet, we’ll get no peace. Right now may be our only chance at some alone time before the vultures start circling. Also, I don't think it would be a bad idea for us to be proactive about cutting off at the knees any ideas anyone might be entertaining about taking bets on when we’re going to shag for the first time.”

“Good thinking," he said, "We'll take care of that right away. It does leave when we'll get married and how long it will be before I get you pregnant still open, though.”

Hermione shot him a coy look. “Then we’ll just have to figure out a way to preempt those too.”

She took the lid off of the small pot of floo powder on top of the mantle and offered it to him, tilting her head to the side to give him better access when he leaned in and nuzzled her neck before taking a pinch of powder. “So is it too much to hope that I'm getting a really amazing Christmas present too?”

Hermione ducked her head and caught his lips one last time. “I’m sure I can figure something out. There's still a whole week left until Christmas, and I’m an extremely clever and resourceful witch."

“I can’t wait to see what you come up with,” he said, throwing the floo powder into the flames. “Home.”

They stepped into the fireplace and vanished just as a parliament of owls, all bearing letters, crashed through her office door.

_All I want for Christmas is you._


End file.
